Grim Budget Tales: Cinderella

Cinderella, as you probably know, lived with her Wicked Steps, mother and sisters, and did all the unpleasant jobs: cleaning the chimney, scouring the latrines, stripping the floorboards, and so on. So it is hardly any surprise that she eagerly awaited the arrival of her Fairy Godmother to extricate her from that mess and get her into the Big Ball at the palace, where she could hope to bag the Handsome Prince and live happily ever after. But in this, she was ... somewhat disappointed.

As the day of the Big Ball approached, the Fairy Godmother was nowhere to be seen. On the very morning of the event, Cinderella was out slopping the hogs.

"Psst!"

The urgent whisper came from a furtive figure at the far end of the trough. She was gesturing conspiratorially in Cinderella's general direction.

"Ok, I've got a bucket of pig slop here," warned our heroine, "and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"Will you keep it down?" hissed the figure. "I'm your FGM!"

"I don't think you can say that in a family fairy tale," replied Cinderella.

"Well, this isn't exactly a fairy tale, is it?" countered the mysterious figure. "If you'll come a little closer, I'll whisper it to you ... I'm your Fairy Godmother!"

"My Fairy Godmother!" bellowed Cinderella. "Well, why didn't you say so! I've been waiting months for you!"

"Jesus Christ!" whispered the FGM, but rather loudly. "Not so loud! You could get me into a lot of trouble!"

"Ok, you've lost me," admitted Cinderella. "Why can't I say Fairy G ..."

"Hush!" repeated the FGM urgently. "Haven't you heard about the state budget deficit?"

"Um, ... yes?" Cinderella shrugged. "Bezillions of simoleons, isn't it?"

"Twenty-one bill and counting," replied the FGM. "They've laid off all the other ... FGMs. That's why I'm so late. You wouldn't believe my case load! But not only that! We aren't allowed to say the, uh, FGM-word anymore. Only FGM."

"Why?" asked Cinderella.

"Apparently, the letters are expensive," sighed the FGM. "But to business! I haven't got all day, you know."

She rummaged in her oversized handbag and extracted a small package.

"Here," she said triumphantly. "I got you a nice, clean linen frock and a pair of sensible shoes. For the Big Ball."

"They aren't, um, very ... stylish," said Cinderella, as diplomatically as she could manage. "Couldn't you just magic me up a sumptuous, jewel-encrusted ball gown and some glass slippers?"

"The days of 'magicking up' are over, toots," scowled the FGM. "They confiscated my wand. Too expensive. I got these at the Goodwill. Take it or leave it."

Cinderella looked sadly at the used clothes.

"The dress is about three sizes too big," she said. "The shoes aren't even high-heeled."

"No time for alterations now, dear," said the FGM, not unkindly. "As for the shoes, you don't want to be running in high heels, anyway. And these will be better for the walk."

"The, uh, walk, huh?" said Cinderella sadly. "I don't suppose you could do anything creative with something from the squash family, could you? No, guess not. But it's an awful long way to the palace."

"Oh, I have some good news for you there," said the FGM brightly, snapping her fingers. "The palace is in foreclosure. The royal family has been evicted. But they're renting a nice double-wide, not half a mile from here!"

Would you be surprised to hear that the Big Ball was not the tour de force of the social season? The Wicked Stepsisters were just storming out as Cinderella was arriving.

"Call that a ball?" sniffed one Wicked Stepsister. "Cause I don't!"

"Please come in, dear," the Queen greeted Cinderella. "I'm afraid we had to let the staff go. The budget, you know. The punch bowl is over there, under the moth-eaten moose head. Help yourself. And we have cheese, crackers, and ... the piece de resistance ... cocktail weenies!"

At that point, the Prince belched into view. I fear we will have to drop the "handsome" part, but there weren't too many holes in his T-shirt. and his jeans were zipped almost all the way up.

"I thought you were watching football, dear," observed the Queen.

"The Cowboys are getting their asses kicked again," moaned the Prince. "I can't stand it."

Then he noticed Cinderella.

"Hey," he hailed in greeting, "aren't you the chick who slops the pigs? Just down the road? I could use a good, strong worker. Will you marry me?"

"I guess it's you or the Wicked Steps," sighed Cinderella.

"Cool!" beamed the Prince. "Could you get me a beer? There're some in the fridge, just over there."